


T plus 22

by inexorableformation



Series: phobia [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Inaccuracies, Panic Attacks, Parent Reaper | Gabriel Reyes, Phobias, Post-Recall, Sort of at least, Trypanophobia, i dont think the phobia thats in this has its own tag, the fear of needles, these tags make it sound a lot angstier than it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:47:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24106951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inexorableformation/pseuds/inexorableformation
Summary: neither are needles.
Relationships: Jesse McCree & Reaper | Gabriel Reyes, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: phobia [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1711432
Comments: 4
Kudos: 51





	T plus 22

**Author's Note:**

> warning for a panic attack at the start in response to anaphylaxis (this is where the medical inaccuracies tag comes in, dont look at this for actual medical advice I am very very far from a professional) 
> 
> the minor / background ship in this is baptiste/mccree which is mildly hinted at, ive written a sort of spinoff for it that follows this but its not tagged bc it is very much not the focus of this

McCree chokes on air. His hands scramble for his pocket but his skin is too tight- his flesh will bulge out and rip through it. He loses his grip, feels every material the same. Wheezes, uselessly, as the substance makes its way through his blood. Stares up at the sky and suffocates.

"I assume you can't talk," he hears Reaper say, "but you have to let me know what I can do."

McCree shakes, paws at his pockets until the injector drops onto the street. Clink. A spark of hope. A spark of gratefulness. It would be easy. Not killing is one thing.

"You gonna watch me die, boss?" he chokes out and sees Reaper stand there, unmoving, tries to laugh but ends up sobbing. "You gonna just-"

No air in his lungs. He wheezes more but there is nothing to inhale. His throat is too tight for more words. No sky. The clicking of metal claws as a tremor runs through them.

McCree stops breathing and suddenly Reaper moves. Picks up the injector. 3 seconds. An eternity. McCree gasps. Heavy breaths. Painful breaths. It gets better. He melts against the concrete, boneless. When the world blurs the terror follows McCree into unconsciousness.

#

McCree awakes in a hospital bed, shakes his head but the grogginess stays.

"You ain't Angela," he says to the doctor that has an expression that is resigned, perhaps tired, but not unkind.

"Do I look like some kind of angel of mercy to you?"

"You do look kinda like an angel from over here, darlin'," McCree slurs. "Can I buy you a drink?"

"McCree," the doctor says. "Ask me that again when you aren't high on painkillers. I might even reject you nicely."

He does smile, though, and it's the last thing McCree sees before his eyes roll back in his head and he drops back into a deep unnatural slumber. It takes hours for him to return.

Baptiste walks into the room and lifts his eyebrows as McCree grimaces.

"Changed your mind that quickly?"

"Oh no," McCree says, hasty, frowns again as the fuzzy feeling in his tongue persists. "I just ain't a fan of the taste of old socks."

"We do pride ourselves on replicating it very well."

"Well, you definitely got it spot on," he says and scratches his head. "How much nonsense did you get to hear from me?"

Baptiste laughs.

"Not any more than usual."

McCree lies back down and stares at the ceiling for a while.

"I can't believe-" he starts and doesn't know how to finish the sentence.

"Can't believe what happened? I don't think it was that unexpected."

McCree lifts his head.

"How d'you know?"

"Reaper told me," Baptiste says and it's casual, unbothered, routine. "You do remember we used to work together, right? I might be with Overwatch now but we're still on okay terms."

Stories of Talon. McCree's heart doesn't know what to do with any of it.

"Must have slipped my mind."

"He's still here, by the way. Outside somewhere."

McCree slumps. Can't decide if he is happy or sad. If he is relieved or still mourning. An ugly thought.

"He hesitated," he says and it hurts. "When I needed the injection. He hesitated for a long-ass time."

Baptiste frowns.

"And you think that's because he didn't want to help you."

A sense of dread that has no source.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not going to do the work for you," Baptiste says and it's still not harsh. "Rest up and ask for yourself."

#

Reaper stands beside the windows close to the medbay. Outside lies the ocean, the Watchpoint overlooking it. Old buildings in new disguises. McCree watches his back and the trepidation settles in his stomach. This isn't fixed.

"Hey," McCree says and his throat is rough. "I'm not dead. Hooray?"

Reaper glances at him over his shoulder and turns, eventually.

"Hooray," he deadpans. The tension runs through his voice like a current.

McCree steps closer, hands in his pockets, until the dim light of the sunset reaches him too.

"Thought you'd let me choke to death for a second. Glad you didn't."

Reaper's posture turns rigid fast.

"I would have done something sooner if-" he starts to say but trails off, his hands uselessly clenching into fists at his side.

The dread swallows an ugly spark of disappointment.

"If?"

Reaper crosses his arms over his chest. His shoulders hitch as he shifts. The mask doesn't move but he turns his head away, faces the wall, the cracks in the surface.

"I didn't use to be afraid of needles," he says and his anger is helpless. "Granted, I also didn't use to be falling apart. I didn't know what-"

And it clicks. Blood flowing into the drain.

"Oh," McCree says and his stomach drops. "Oh."

Reaper sneers at no one. He looks smaller against the big bright windows. The ocean below.

"It's not the pain. It's knowing what happened later. All of the shit that came with it. I don't-"

McCree takes a step closer.

"'m sorry for not gettin' it."

"No way you could have known."

"Still-"

"You couldn't have known."

For a second they are caught in stasis, a balance so easily upset.

"Thanks," McCree says and the wave of emotion is almost too much, almost overwhelming. "For helpin' me out. Again."

Reaper shrugs.

"I wasn't going to watch you die."

Another two steps, another spark of grief worry useless futile hope. McCree stumbles over nothing, memories, words. Stares at a mask.

"I wanna hug you, boss," he says, finally. "That cool with you?"

Reaper laughs, almost silent.

"Hit me."

He winces as McCree wraps his arms around him. Takes a moment. Relaxes, slowly, and returns the gesture, holds McCree tight until the tension bleeds away. McCree buries his face against his shoulder.

"You ran off too quick last time. Didn't have time to ask."

"Talon is gonna follow me," Reaper says. "Not a great idea to lead them to you, panic attack or not."

"Thought you were one of their big gun mercenaries."

"Doesn't mean they trust me."

McCree laughs.

"Guess this isn't really gonna help."

"No. Absolutely not."

"Unfortunate. But I ain't letting go right now."

Reaper runs a hand over his hair.

"Scared I'll disappear?"

"Are you gonna?"

Reaper wraps him up in his coat instead of an answer. He's only taller by a fraction now and McCree feels too young and too old at once to realize it.

"I've been doin' pretty good the last couple years," he says and it's muffled, "but I still don't want you to just go and vanish again."

Reaper hums.

"Okay."

"Okay what?"

"Just okay."

"What does that _mean_ , boss?"

"It means okay."

"Y'know what?" McCree says. "I changed my mind. You can leave."

He doesn't let go. Reaper keeps laughing, not bitter, not worried.

"I'll think about it," he says and it's warm despite the echo. "I don't want to make promises I can't keep."

"Easy. Just keep 'em. Duh."

"I'll give that a try."

"I'm not askin' you to join Overwatch or anything."

"Then what are you asking?"

McCree shrugs.

"Not sure, honestly."

"You have this now."

Not the ocean beyond the window.

"Yeah, sure," McCree agrees. "Got some great people around here. Doesn't mean I wanna keep shootin' at you."

"Well," Reaper says and the grin is audible. "It's easy. Just don't shoot."

"Changed my mind. I'ma shoot you right now actually."

McCree does not move an inch. Reaper rests his chin on his head.

"Go ahead."

"Nah."

"Nah?"

"Nah."

"Well," Reaper says. "I'm not gonna kill you, either, punk."

McCree coughs and his throat is rough.

"Big difference between not killing someone and saving them, boss."

"Maybe."

"Definitely."

A laugh that is tired, now.

"Yeah," Reaper says. "You're right."

McCree focuses on the hand stroking over his hair, the heartbeat that he can't hallucinate. One, two, three. He could fall asleep like this, right here.

"Just a few more minutes," he mumbles. "And I'll be okay."

"Take your time."

"Thought they were gonna come after you."

"Yeah, well," Reaper says and holds him close. "Let me worry about that."  



End file.
